please destroy me this way

this piece was inspired by the painting you see
above done by Alfie Ebojo aka Alfienumeric…those
of you who visit this blog regularly know that i
recognize her as a dope artist out of the City of
Angels. check more of her work out here:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/alfienumeric

————————————–

please
destroy me this way
let those dreams i left scattered to the winds
come back as two-toned sparrows
with voices like Spanish bells
let every fear i had
shrivel like the pits of peaches
half-eaten on the sides of roads

please
let me lose myself
in woven sunlight that promises
to knit futures before my eyes
and tell everyone that means something to me
thank you for your prayers
i am stitching them to my sides now

please
let me soar
into a horizon beyond fingertips and despair
where i used to be so long ago
and let these years in front of me
not listen to those
i’ve left behind.

6.11-30.11

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waiting for the dusk

*for brownin’*

if nightfall
was composed only of
your tresses embracing the sides of my face
Thierry Mugler and the dew of bashful lips
alongside the hum of an electric guitar
and the magic
of minutes stretching like shadows
then the daytime
couldn’t move fast enough
for me.

6.29.11

the longest hour…

h’lo folks! i figured i’d depart from the regular flow
and share a story from my recent travel. i was on my
way to Charlotte, North Carolina for a family event and
some R&R. i had strapped myself in on the plane and was
about to tip my head back to catch a wink or two when i
heard someone say, ‘Excuse me.’ i looked up and saw a
woman grin at me, a bit on the shy side i thought. boy,
was i wrong.

i got up to let her sit in the window seat and this lady
(i didn’t even catch her name, despite the fact she had
not stopped talking until 15 minutes into the flight)
began to tell me her story over the past 24 hours. she
had missed a flight the night before, missed another one
earlier and had to make her way to JFK from LaGuardia to
catch this flight. it was going to be her first time going
to South Carolina. ‘so you’re driving after you get to
Charlotte?’ i asked. ‘oh yes,’ she said. she was a sister,
from the islands. i gathered as much from the accent and
the cherry kool-aid tint of her hair color. she lost me
when she took her shoes off however. i realize that we,
as human beings, tend to have our own odor under certain
circumstances. but when she took her shoes off, i swear
to you, i caught a whiff of cold cuts. salami. i grimaced
inwardly. mind you, she’s still talking, but now to herself.

i turned to my sisters sitting across the aisle, settled
in. we take off smoothly, and i notice a little girl sitting
in front of them, playing. she seemed a little under the
weather. i wouldn’t know how much until later. she gave me
a small grin and i returned the favor. meanwhile, my seat
mate had begun to wind down after getting a blanket. ‘i’m
from the islands, and we don’t do the cold. cold kills me!’
she said with a chuckle. ‘oh, my family is as well,’ i reply
but she pretty much ran roughshod over that and didn’t hear.
works for me. i closed my eyes for a bit.

we wind up getting to Charlotte 20 minutes early. as we start
our descent, i pop a piece of gum in my mouth and begin to get
ready for landing. the little girl i saw earlier said something
in Spanish to her mother, who was sitting in front of me. her
face looked a bit pale. she looks off, past me to the back. and
then, it happens. as the plane begins to land, she vomits. all
of the orange juice and whatever else she has flows out. it was
like a cutscene from a Wes Craven film. it spills out onto her
clothes, hits the floor. after a minute of this, another little
girl sitting next to her, possibly her sister says, ‘now I might
throw up. gross.’ her mother? she was fumbling for tissue, and
looked a bit distracted even when others gave her tissue and
napkins. while this is going on, we’re set to taxi into the gate.
but then the pilot gets on the speaker to tell us another plane
is there. and we have to wait a half hour. and then the AC gets
cut off.

the sister next to me starts getting agitated. ‘c’mon man, we
gotta get off the plane. this is ridiculous.’, she says in
between making phone calls to different people informing them
as to what’s going on. the little girl goes to the bathroom
with her mother and comes back freshly scrubbed and changed
and happier it seems. the AC had been cut back on, and things
got more mellow. well, save for this older brother pulling his
Samsonite suitcase out from the overhead and tucking it between
his legs waiting to deplane. the flight attendant had to give
him a quick talking to for that one. she also had to buckle the
little girl in because her mother was too busy playing Bejeweled
on her BlackBerry. yeah, you read that right. as we get baggage
claim info, my seatmate goes, ‘oh it’s Carousel D as in David.
that’s my boyfriend’s name!’ i nodded and said, ‘okay, cool..’
as if that would stop the flow of speech(what was i thinking?)
but she then says, ‘we met online. this is the first time i’m
meeting him.’ cue the dramatic music. because once i heard that,
i thought, ‘this is a 48 Hours episode possibly.’ and she’s going
to South Carolina to meet him. i was officially done at that
point. and the moment we were ready to deplane, i bolted. what
a crazy start to a good trip.

garlands of grace

*for brownin’*

for so many reasons
that your feet have become
garlands of grace
there have been reasons
where you’ve felt them gripped in pain
like thorns embedded just below the skin
i appreciate that much more
your footsteps
and hope that one day
my own hands
can rival water
and course around your toes enough
for your skin to flush with joy

subway surfing.

we should’ve known the moment he stood up.

the J train had just pulled out of the 121st Street
station on its way towards Brooklyn and eventually,
Manhattan. i was on the train, headed to work the
evening shift on a temp gig with NYU. the train car
i was in had the usual mix of teens fresh out of
school, young mothers and their oversized strollers,
Chinese women hawking bootleg DVDs and an assorted
thug or two with a du-rag on. one guy stood out
though. he sat near the connecting door of the car
off to my left. he sipped from a can in a brown paper
bag that matched his complexion. he was clean, his
cut was a low ‘Fro two days past freshness. all he
had on was a navy blue sweatsuit. i figured he was
out for a gym run. i figured wrong because he went
through the door. and had proceeded to climb ON TOP
of the car.

now, you hear about people train-surfing out in
places like Brazil, or India when there’s literally
no real seating on their interior railways. but here,
in New York City? most think that went out with the
late 1980’s and S-Curls. but this dude was literally
train-surfing!!! we could hear him as he held on,
the loud bumps making everyone pay attention. he had
onions, this guy. especially given the fact that the
boys in blue walk up and down subway lines. some of
the people were waiting to see if he’d slip and fall
off, a gruesome development since we were fast
approaching the Cypress Hills station on the border
between Queens and Brooklyn and nothing was gonna
save him from dropping almost three stories to the
pavement below. right across the street from a
cemetery at that.

all the excitement however came to an end when the
surfer hopped off onto the platofrm at Cypress Hills,
and bolted towards the stairs. the NYPD officers ran
after him in a mad dash. just another random piece
of subway madness in the Big Apple.

a pond’s surface

*for brownin’*

it would not be
out of the ordinary
to meditate on what your stare means
when you are pleased
past all troubles
that tower and tangle like so many trees
and to see your face
still as a back country pond
your eyes
bold maple leaves
drifting on the surface
the only ripples
being when you exhibit that beam of light
that makes silence sweeter.